


might never be normal again

by couldaughter



Series: author's choice [17]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Can't Look A Gift Horse In The Mouth, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Look Sometimes Resurrection Just Happens, Post-Season/Series 03, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: Weird shit happens all the time in New York.





	might never be normal again

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: claustrophobia, discussion of ray's canonical death

Ray was never claustrophobic as a kid.

There were a couple times he got locked in the supply closet, sure, and once he got stuck in the crawl space under his aunt’s house while all the adults were busy and he didn’t get out for two hours, but - he’s not actually _afraid_ of small spaces. Just has a healthy wariness of getting stuck in places he can’t leave.

Which is why waking up in a coffin is still a nightmare scenario, even if he’s only semi-conscious of the fact it’s a coffin and not just, say, a really dark box that’s _not_ buried under six feet of soft earth.

So he wakes up in this coffin, right. He wakes up in this coffin, and he can’t breathe, and he has the most _wicked_ pins and needles anyone’s ever had in his life. And he claws his way through the soft silk lining of the coffin lid and punches out through the top and thinks _Good thing Seema didn’t cremate me_.

He might be feeling a little hysterical, is the point. He’s got dirt under every nail and in his eyes and nose and mouth, and he’s pushing up through all that earth until he feels cool air on his hands and then his arms and then, mercifully, his face.

Breathing sucks a whole lot, but it’s a lot better than not breathing.

He’s on his hands and knees in a graveyard in the middle of the night. There’s a whole bunch of pumpkins lining the pathway, charmingly secular, and he thinks he might actually have come out of his grave on Halloween night.

“What the fuck,” he says, and then he coughs up a lungful of dirt onto the grass. He’s wearing his third-best suit and a pair of shoes he’s never seen before. When he scrubs at his face he can feel a knot of scar tissue between his eyes.

Getting to his feet is a tall order but he manages it, pushes himself up through every single one of his joints clicking, and only wobbles a little as he takes his first step post-death.

At least, he assumes he was dead. There aren’t many other reasons they bury you.

 

* * *

 

It takes Ray a while to figure out where exactly in New York he is. He can’t be in Manhattan - that kind of funeral would bankrupt Seema easy if they hadn’t already been in the tank, finance wise - but without the help of Google Maps he’s basically reduced to wandering around until he finds a street sign or a tourist stand.

A church tower chimes the hour in the distance - 3am, because Ray has the best luck of all time.

It’s a bitch getting back into Manhattan without a wallet and especially without a metrocard. Luckily Ray has a lot of time and, somehow, a lot of energy. If he had his phone he’d call a cab, but his phone’s been called to a higher purpose and he just has to walk.

He figures it’s been a while since he’s had any adrenaline at all. Maybe his body is catching him up on it.

Dex shot him, Ray’s fairly sure. He pokes at the scar from time to time, feeling pretty self conscious.

The walk takes hours, to the point that dawn is breaking by the time he reaches the Williamsburg Bridge.

There are a couple of joggers out by now, and one or two of them do a double take at the Indian guy covered in dirt, but New York is just like that. Weird shit happens all the time in New York. Ray is just the latest example of that.

He jogs up beside a white guy on the bridge, maybe mid-30s, great hair. “Hey,” he says, panting slightly. “Could I borrow your phone real quick?”

“Sure, man,” says the guy. He slows down to a stop and pulls his phone out of the holder on his arm.

“Thanks,” says Ray. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

The phone has one of those always on screens, showing the date and time. It’s Halloween. Ray stifles a giggle.

He has to google the number he needs - he has Seema’s off by heart, of course, but he can’t just assume she’s kept the same one.

The guy he needs picks up the phone within a couple of rings. “Detective Mahoney, NYPD. What’s the problem?”

Ray huffs. “Detective. It’s Ray Nadeem.”

Brett makes a noise halfway between choking and laughing. “Sure it is, buddy. How’d you get this number?”

“Google. And it really is me. Or do you wanna find some other way to explain the coffin that’s currently in a couple more pieces than the last time someone saw it?”

The guy whose phone he borrowed is looking at him like he’s legitimately insane, but that’s fine. Ray only needs Brett to believe him.

Brett doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” says Ray. “I got a lotta classified information I could disclose over the phone right now, but - I just wanna know how Seema and Sami are, honest to god. Oh, and a ride might be nice.”

“Sure,” says Brett. “I’ll send a car right now. ‘Cause either you’re lying and you’re a potential public danger, or you’re telling the truth, and--”

“And I’m something else.”

“Exactly,” says Brett. He sounds very tired.

“I’ll be on Columbia Street. Can’t miss it - I’m the guy with a hole in his forehead.” He hangs up.

 

* * *

 

The kid they send out to pick him up is practically shaking in his boots at the sight of Ray, which is kind of hysterical because all Ray wants is a shower and a change of clothes right now.

“Morning,” he says, and gets into the back seat of the cruiser.

It takes over half an hour to get to the station, and they spend the whole drive in dead silence. Ray stares out the window, watches Manhattan roll by. He’s not going to get the chance to see it as a free man for much longer.

“We’re here,” says the kid, kind of unnecessarily. He gets out and opens Ray’s door for him, which is a nice gesture.

Ray brushes some of the dirt off his suit before walking in. It’s one thing tracking mud across the streets of New York; quite another doing it in a publically funded building.

The door slams shut behind him, a decisive sound. Mahoney is waiting in the lobby, and when he sees Ray he honestly looks like he might faint.

“Holy shit,” says Brett. “You mind explaining this one, Agent Nadeem?”

“Wish I could,” says Ray. “Might just have to chalk it up to dumb luck, this time.”

Brett claps him on the shoulder. Ray presents his wrists.

Brett eyes them, frowning. “What’s that for?”

“Pretty sure I’m meant to be serving five years, right?”

“You _died_ , man. I’m not sure the long arm of the law reaches that far.”

Ray takes his wrists back. “You think I should maybe call my lawyers?” He smiles, feels it pull at the muscles in his face.

“Maybe,” says Brett. He hands Ray his cellphone. “They got a new number. New office, new name, all pretty fancy.”

“Good,” says Ray. He thinks of Matt, taking off his mask for him. Matt and Foggy, leading him through the indictment hearing. “They deserve it.”

He takes the phone and calls the number. Brett sits him down in an alcove off the lobby and gives him some privacy.

“Nelson, Murdock and Page at your service,” says Foggy, bright and cheerful. “Although we’re workshopping the name. How can we help you this fine morning?”

“Hey, Foggy,” says Ray. “Listen, what do you know about post-mortem convictions?”

Foggy drops his phone. Ray hears the clatter as it falls.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later Foggy’s in the lobby, and he looks like he genuinely might faint.

It’s kind of a funny look, so Ray laughs. “Alright, Foggy?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, what the hell, I guess zombies are real now,” says Foggy, in a rush. “I gotta sit down.”

He sits next to Ray in the alcove, on the floor.

Ray pats him on the elbow. “If it makes you feel better, I sure as hell don’t know what’s going on either.”

“That actually does help, thanks,” says Foggy. He looks at Ray again, eyes flicking from the scar on his forehead to the dirt on his suit to the splinters in his fingertips. “You got a heartbeat there, my dude?”

“Seems so,” says Ray. He can feel it in his throat. “Where’re Seema and Sami?”

“Jersey City, I think,” says Foggy. “Just for the weekend, though. We e-mail, a bit. Kind of awkward, to be honest.”

“I can imagine,” says Ray. “You got a number for them?”

“I can do you one better,” says Foggy. He gets up, offers Ray a hand.

Ray lets him pull him up onto his feet. He feels a bit less like his knees are about to buckle.

“Come back to the office,” he continues. “I’ll get them to come over, and me and Matt can figure out what the hell the law’s got to do with you right now. Kill a couple birds with one stone.” He chokes. “I mean, uh--”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Ray. He never wants to think about Dex’s tapes ever again. Or Dex, actually. He blinks against an image of Dex stood in his backyard, gun raised.

They walk to the office. Ray blinks at the Nelson’s Meats sign.

“In another life, I coulda been a butcher,” says Foggy, leading Ray up a side staircase. “Or at least that’s what my mom thinks.”

“Oh, I get that,” says Ray. “My mom wanted me to be a lawyer.”

“So close, yet so far,” says Foggy. He grins, and opens the door to his office.

Matt Murdock tilts his head, breathes sharply. Karen drops a coffee mug.

“Hi guys,” says Foggy, nonchalant. He puts a hand on Ray’s arm. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

 

* * *

 

“So there’s no precedent for this?”

Ray looks down at the stack of files they’ve already looked through, and back towards the filing cabinet, drawers half open, that’s still to be searched.

Foggy shrugs. Matt sighs.

“You’re a zombie, man,” says Foggy. His sleeves are rolled up, and his tie is loose at his collar. “Honest to God, we could spin this any way we want. The question is what _you_ want. Do you think you still deserve five years after, y’know, literally dying for your crimes?”

“I… don’t know,” says Ray. “I can’t even remember dying. Capital punishment isn’t legal in New York, either. Not like I could’ve asked for this instead of five years.”

“A fair point,” says Matt, pointing his pen in Ray’s general direction. Matt’s also got his sleeves rolled up, and his glasses have slid halfway down his nose. Ray still doesn’t really understand how Matt does everything he does as Daredevil. He looks almost completely non-threatening, for all that Ray remembers exactly how it felt when Matt yelled at him in that boxing gym.

It’s been a few hours. Karen left to pick up lunch, Ray is pretty sure, but he only vaguely remembers telling her what he wanted. His stomach hasn’t quite caught on to the ‘alive now!’ message, so he doesn’t mind the wait.

“Anyway, incredibly morbid commentary notwithstanding,” says Foggy. “You say you’re not sure what you deserve. If you don’t mind my opinion, I think you’ve suffered enough.”

“Thanks, Foggy,” says Ray. “I’ll let you know how I feel in a couple hours. Being alive’s kinda exhausting.”

Matt snorts. Foggy looks at him with a mix of fondness and deep seated exasperation.

 

* * *

 

It’s starting to get dark when there’s a knock at the office door.

“I’ll get it,” says Foggy.

They keep the door locked outside of office hours, so it’s a few seconds of jangling before Foggy opens the door to reveal Seema and Sami stood on the threshold.

Ray freezes. She's beautiful, of course she is, but she looks so _tired_ , bags under her eyes and lips cracked. Seema looks at him for a long moment, eyes wide, and takes three steps to throw herself into his arms.

“Oh, my love, my love,” she mumbles into his neck. “I hate you so much, you have _no idea_ \--”

Ray chuckles weakly, feels Sami attach himself to his side. He cups Sami’s neck with one hand, wraps his other arm around Seema’s waist.

“Long time no see, Seems,” he says, the urge to cry building up in his chest. “Did you miss me?”

She pounds one fist against his back, the other one twisted in the clean jacket he’s wearing now, one Foggy dug out for him just after lunch. _May as well look your best for her,_ he’d said, smiling softly.

Sami is crying against his hip. He pulls away from Seema just long enough to scoop him up and hug him close to his chest, let Sami feel his heartbeat. “I’m back, sweetheart,” he says, muffled, into Sami’s hair. “I’m back.”

**Author's Note:**

> two stories in a day??? who am i, victor hugo?
> 
> fr though, #JusticeForRay
> 
> also unbeta-ed! i'm a human disaster
> 
> title from home from war by frightened rabbit
> 
> find me on twitter and tumblr @dotsayers, apparently just yelling 24/7/365


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